


That's Not Funny

by cyankelpie



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Aziraphale can't sense love from demons, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Post-Apocalypse, So you begin to see the problem here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-14
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-30 12:36:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21428320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyankelpie/pseuds/cyankelpie
Summary: Aziraphale has never sensed even a shred of love from Crowley, which is perfectly alright. It isn't Crowley's fault demons can't love. But then Crowley makes what must be a cruel joke at his expense, and Aziraphale can't control his emotions as well while drunk.Luckily, he doesn't remember the confession in the morning. Crowley doesn't see why the angel was so upset over something he probably knew all along, but he'll make sure it stays forgotten.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 107
Kudos: 780
Collections: Aspec-friendly Good Omens, Good Omens (Complete works)





	1. The Big Grey Ones

**Author's Note:**

> I promise this will end well, but it has to get worse before it gets better.

“Aright, aright.” Crowley popped the cork on the next bottle of wine, swaying a little in his seat. He refilled his own glass, then leaned across the table to reach Aziraphale’s and accidentally spilled a few drops on the knees of his trousers. “Ahh, oh no, sorry.”

“‘S alright, m’dear fellow,” Aziraphale slurred, miracling away the stain. “Another—hic—‘nother toast. What’ve we missed?”

“Hm.” Crowley screwed up his face with the effort of thinking through the sludge in his brain. “We got g’rillas, dolphins, whales…”

“Snails,” Aziraphale added. “‘Cause it rhymed.”

“It does, yeah. Lessee, uh, ducks…”

“But not geese,” Aziraphale cut in.

“Never geese.” Crowley waved a hand. “What’s left? Uhhh, giraffe?”

Aziraphale grunted and shook his head vehemently. “Not giraffe.”

“Why not? What’s wrong with…?”

He shuddered. “Too tall.”

“Ohh,” said Crowley, with understanding. “Yeah.”

They both thought for a moment. It took a lot of effort. Crowley forgot they were supposed to be thinking of a toast and started drinking anyway.

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s face lit up. “Elephants.”

“What about elefef…fefants?”

The angel raised his glass. “To the elfephants. Elelefants. The big grey ones.”

“Big grey ones!” Crowley echoed, and they both drank. “Oh, oh, and pandas.”

“Pandas, yes!” Aziraphale gestured with the glass so enthusiastically that he almost dumped it all over the carpet. “Lovely bears. The…spots. Right?”

“Those ones, yeah. Like great fuzzy pillows,” said Crowley. “Always wanted to hug one.”

“Oh, no,” said Aziraphale in a grave tone. “They’d kill you for that.”

“What? Nah. Pillows.”

“Bears, still.”

“Ohh. Oh yeah.”

The whole conversation mirrored another drunken tirade in the back of a bookshop, only this time they had actually saved the animals in question. The memory came to Crowley dimly, and he looked across at Aziraphale, who looked so much happier to be there now that the world wasn’t about to end and Crowley wasn’t desperately trying to convince him to stop it. There were no more wiles to thwart. Just two best friends, and all the time in the world.

“C’n I hug you?” Crowley asked. “Really wanna hug you.”

“’F course, then.”

Crowley got up from the couch and immediately fell flat on the floor with an “Uff.”

“Crowley?” Aziraphale looked around, his forehead wrinkling.

Crowley waved, wondering how he had wound up looking at the ceiling. “‘M down here now.”

“Oh. What for?”

“Egh, dunno.” He stretched out his arms and legs. “S’comfy, maybe.” To be fair, the warm fog in his brain made everything feel comfy. He turned to look over at Aziraphale, who was sideways for some reason, and remembered that he had been on his way over to hug him. Maybe later, he decided, when the floor wasn’t actively trying to tilt him off-balance. “’M so glad you didn’t die,” he mumbled without quite meaning to say it out loud. It was getting harder to tell the difference between what he said inside and outside his head.

“Me too,” said Aziraphale. “Wait, no, wait, I did.”

“But you’re back.”

Aziraphale looked down at himself like he was surprised to hear that. “Oh yeah.”

“’N’ we can, like, we can go to the Ritz, and all,” he went on, trying to push himself into a sitting position against the couch. “I can tell you I love you.”

Aziraphale sipped some more of his wine before the words seemed to reach him. “Oh, what?”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened and then filled with tears. His lower lip trembled. “That’s not funny, Crowley.”

Crowley’s forehead scrunched up as he tried to process this reaction. “What?”

“That’s _mean_.” Aziraphale tried to stand and ended up sliding onto the floor as well. He looked around as if confused about why all the furniture had gotten taller.

“Mean?” Crowley repeated, wondering if he had said what he had thought he had said, and what Aziraphale might have heard instead. For hell—heav—somewhere’s sake, this wasn’t supposed to be new information.

“Don’t make fun of me,” Aziraphale was sobbing into one hand now. “Don’t, Crowley, I beg you.”

“I wasn’t—wasn’t—what are you crying for?”

Aziraphale couldn’t answer. Crowley sobered up as quickly as he could with such an extraordinary amount of alcohol in his blood and tried to move closer to him. “Angel, what’s—”

“I don’t want to talk to you now, said Aziraphale, holding out a hand as if to push Crowley away. “Go home.”

It was happening again. He had gone too fast and scared Aziraphale off. But he had really thought that things were different now. Aziraphale had been different at dinner, more open, more relaxed. There had been certain looks, and for once he didn’t hurriedly look someplace else whenever Crowley thought he caught one. Things were finally opening up between them. Except then Crowley had gone and gotten drunk and spilled his feelings out loud, and he didn’t think that was something he could take back. Well, if Aziraphale needed space, Crowley would give him space. “Alright,” he said, getting to his feet and trying not to sound as crushed as he felt. “Sorry. I get the message. Have a good night.”

The only reply was the sound of Aziraphale crying behind him as he left.


	2. Don't get me Started on Roses

Aziraphale woke the next morning with a raging hangover and swollen eyes. He got rid of the hangover quickly enough, but left the sting in his eyes long enough to examine them in the mirror. That was unusual. Something must have irritated them last night. Surely he hadn’t been crying?

When he tried to remember what had happened last night, he couldn’t get very far. He remembered lunch with Crowley, that turned into an afternoon and then dinner with Crowley, that turned into drinks at the bookshop with Crowley, and then everything went a little patchy. He had a very vague memory of finishing a bottle and a half by himself, without Crowley. Why would he keep drinking after Crowley left? What could have upset him like that, when everything was going so perfectly?

They must have been awfully drunk. _He _must have been awfully drunk, to have forgotten. He swallowed, and his heart sank. Surely he hadn’t been so stupid as to tell Crowley how he felt. He knew Crowley didn’t return his feelings. He’d sense it, and he’d never felt even a smidgen of love from Crowely, not even the non-romantic sort. Which did seem a bit unusual, seeing as they were best friends, but there were so many unusual things about their relationship that a lack of love seemed one of the more trivial ones.

Aziraphale’s heart pounded. If he _had _confessed to Crowley, it couldn’t have gone well if he’d spent the rest of the night crying about it. But it couldn’t have ruined things between them forever, could it? They had been through so much already, and come out okay. Maybe Crowley didn’t remember last night either, he thought hopefully, and then remembered that Crowley would have needed to sober up to drive himself home. Well, he thought, his hands fluttering as he reached for the phone, maybe he could patch things up. Pretend it was all a joke. Or something. If he could just find out what on Earth had happened, he could think of something.

“Anthony J. Crowley,” said the answering machine. “You know what to—Angel. Hey.”

Aziraphale blinked and pulled the receiver back to look at it in surprise. He couldn’t remember the last time Crowley had actually picked up the phone before the answering machine message finished. Actually, he wasn’t sure if it had ever happened at all. “Crowley. Ah. Yes. Quick question.” He licked his lips and went on. “Do you remember what happened last night?”

Crowley waited a few seconds too long before saying, “Yeah?”

“Could you, er…fill me in?”

“Oh,” said Crowley. “You don’t?”

“Well, not…not all of it, I’m afraid,” Aziraphale admitted. “We must have worked through half my wine cellar.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Was it his imagination, or did Crowley sound relieved? “I mean, yeah, we drank a ton, probably said a bunch of nonsense, and then I went home. You know, the usual.” Another pause. “Why’d you call me to ask?”

Aziraphale cringed. This question was harder. “Did I seem…upset by anything?”

“Uh. Why?”

“Something was wrong with my eyes when I woke up,” he said. “Was I, um…was I crying?”

Another pause. “You really don’t remember?”

“I told you, no.”

“Don’t worry about it, then,” he said hurriedly. “I made a stupid joke, that’s all. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

Aziraphale’s brow creased. “What on Earth did you say?”

“You don’t want me to repeat it,” said Crowely. “Just forget it ever happened. My fault, like I said. Sorry ‘bout your eyes. Won’t happen again.”

So he hadn’t spilled the beans after all. That was a relief, though he couldn’t help but wonder what Crowley could possibly have said to upset him so much. “I see. Think nothing of it, my dear chap.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, while I’ve got you here, would you like to meet for lunch?”

“Sssure,” said Crowley, though he hissed a little more than he usually did. “Pick you up in ten?”

“You cannot possibly drive here that fast.”

“I’ll drive however fast I want. That’s my whole thing, right?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “I will see you in _twenty _minutes.”

“Alright, I’ll just be standing outside for ten. Hell, fifteen.”

“Crowley—!”

The line clicked. Aziraphale frowned at it in a way that felt familiar. There was comfort in that, and in their usual banter, Crowley’s jokes, Aziraphale’s nagging. Everything seemed fine between them, or at least, almost.

It was the “almost” that bothered him through most of lunch. Crowley seemed tense when he came to pick Aziraphale up (within much fewer than ten minutes), no matter how much he tried to hide it. Aziraphale knew him too well not to notice, but the last thing he wanted to do was comment on it and bring up the awkward subject of the previous night again. They reached the restaurant—Crowley had picked Aziraphale’s favorite sushi place, though neither of them had discussed it, and Aziraphale was pleasantly surprised when they pulled up—and they were quite a while into the meal before Crowley relaxed. But even then it was a frail relaxation, not the total, comfortable freedom Aziraphale had seen in him the previous night. Before they had started drinking, and _something _had happened, though he might never find out what.

“Are you all right?” he found the courage to ask, by the time the bill finally arrived.

“Me?” Crowley picked up the bill and tucked a few bills into it. Aziraphale was touched, as he always was when Crowley paid for his indulgences, even though the gesture was ultimately meaningless as money was of no consequence to either of them. “Yeah, fine. Why?”

Oh dear, he was tensing up again. “Just checking,” said Aziraphale hurriedly. “You know, just—random, surprise check. I mean, there’s times I wish someone would ask me if I’m alright, even when nothing seems wrong, so I thought maybe—”

“Are you alright, then?” Crowley interrupted.

“Oh. Yes.” Aziraphale gave a nervous laugh. “Sorry, that’s not what I meant. Um…” His eyes flicked around, searching for a new topic of conversation. Even now, he was reluctant to leave Crowley’s company so soon. “Perhaps a walk?”

“Sure.” Crowley rose from his chair and waved Aziraphale in front of him. “Lead the way, angel.”

Aziraphale puzzled over Crowley’s mood as they walked through the park. It must have something to do with last night, but he couldn’t imagine what might have happened. From what Crowley had told him, it didn’t sound like Aziraphale had said anything, and what could Crowley possibly have said to bring him to tears? He hadn’t ever really been mean to Aziraphale, at least not intentionally. Perhaps a joke about their relationship, which had been too much for his repressed feelings to handle? Crowley had never joked about that before. Aziraphale frowned. Odd. Very few topics were off-limits for Crowley’s jokes.

“You’re quiet.” Crowley’s voice interrupted his train of thought. “What’s on your mind?”

Aziraphale looked up and, without quite answering the question, said, “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it?”

Crowley followed his gaze. “Yeah. Not a cloud in the sky.”

“The trees will be turning in a few months.”

“Ooh, yeah. All that _orange._ Another good thing about them not being destroyed.”

Aziraphale chuckled. This was becoming a familiar vein in their conversation. “That, and the oxygen.”

“There’s other things that make oxygen,” said Crowley. “They don’t change colors.”

“Well, and what about evergreens?”

“Boring,” said Crowley “No. Too sharp. And pine cones? What’s up with that, what’s that even supposed to be?”

They went on like this, discussing the merits and detriments of various things that had survived the apocalypse (which was everything, so it provided them with ample subject matter). They made it to flowers, and then Crowley was off on some rant about different varieties. He had so much more to say than Aziraphale on the subject that Aziraphale simply let him talk for the most part, occasionally putting in a “Hm,” or a “Yes, quite,” when it seemed appropriate. This, unfortunately, left his mind free to wander back to the subject of his feelings for Crowley.

The amount of love present in the park didn’t help, either. The pleasant weather had drawn out all sorts of people: knots of friends sitting on the grass and gossiping, couples walking hand in hand, families with their children, and between them all, such bonds of love. None of that had ever come from Crowley. Hell, one woman who passed them had more love for her dog than he’d ever sensed from Crowley.

“And don’t get me started on roses,” Crowley was saying. “You think they’re nice, right? You think they’re all, I dunno, pure and perfect? Wrong, they’re absolute nightmares, let me tell you. Cut your hand to ribbons just for trying to fertilize them—”

“Lower your voice, dear,” said Aziraphale, spotting a couple across the park with a bushel of red roses on the bench next to them.

Crowley saw them too, and snorted. “Bad choice. Honestly, roses should be the flower you give your enemies. ‘Here, I actively want to hurt you.’ That’s what that says.”

“I’m sure that’s not what she meant.” The two women were holding hands and leaning into each other, looking up into the sky with nearly identical wistful, content smiles on their lips. Oh, they were _so _much in love. It made Aziraphale’s heart ache to feel it. He smiled for their sake, but couldn’t help but feel sad for his own.

“You alright?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale jumped a little. “Y-yes,” he stuttered. His eyes—he was never good at controlling his eyes—flicked back toward the couple, and Crowley followed his gaze, then turned back and raised his eyebrows in a question.

“It’s just,” he said, and then trailed off and pointed towards them, then at his own heart. “They care an awful lot for each other. It’s very touching.”

“Oh. Right.” Crowley looked back at the couple. He seemed tense again. “You can sense it.”

Aziraphale nodded. “I just think it’s nice,” he said, except the last part accidentally came out as, “it must be nice.” He was still thinking too much about Crowley, about how wonderful it would be to love someone and know that they loved you. He couldn’t fault Crowley for that, of course. Demons couldn’t love, probably. At least, he’d never had any evidence to suggest that they could.

Crowley was frowning. “Aziraphale, if you wanted _that _you could have it very easily. All you’ve got to do is ask.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea of finding some stranger and politely asking him into a relationship. “You flatter me, Crowley, but I doubt that would work."

Crowley swallowed hard. “Alright,” he muttered. “I get the hint.”

Aziraphale blinked at him in alarm. That wasn’t what—He wasn’t trying to suggest— “I wasn’t hinting anything, Crowley—”

“‘S fine,” Crowley hissed. “Drop it.”

Aziraphale did, his mind a hum of mild panic. _Did _Crowley know? He seemed to have an inkling of where Aziraphale’s thoughts had been, and such obvious discomfort…He swallowed. Surely Crowley would have the decency to tell Aziraphale if he had drunkenly confessed and then forgotten. Unless, maybe, it wasn’t an outright confession. If he had reason to suspect…

“I think perhaps I’d better go back to the bookshop,” he said. “I haven’t opened it in a few days.”

Crowley nodded. “Yeah. Me too. Haven’t yelled at the plants in a while.” He glanced around. “You want a lift?”

“No, I don’t think so,” said Aziraphale. “You’re much closer to your flat from here. Don’t trouble yourself on my account.”

“Right. Right.” Crowley took a deep breath. “Well. Later, angel.”

There seemed to be the barest hint of a question in it, a “right?” tacked onto the end, and Aziraphale suppressed a sigh. “Yes, of course.”


	3. Not Your Department

“Seriously?” Crowley exclaimed. “_Already?_ It’s barely been a month.”

Aziraphale looked at him over a forkful of pasta. “It has been nine weeks, Crowley. And anyway, they’re in love.”

“Yeah, well, no one said love was smart, angel.”

Aziraphale paused in his chewing. No, he admitted, they didn’t.

“I mean, seriously,” Crowley scoffed, “how d’you turn shagging under a bed in the middle of a storm into a long-term relationship? The world was ending, it wasn’t like either of them had a lot of options. Not to mention her matchmaking great-great-however-many-greats-grandmother having got them together in the first place.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “Look, I can’t expect you to understand these things. I’m just telling you what happened. Newt and Anathema are living together, and that’s that.”

“What the bloody heaven is that supposed to mean?”

“They both live in the same place," he said, enunciating with deliberate sarcasm. "How much more do I need to explain?”

“No, I get that part, I’m not stupid.” Crowley waved his fingers through the air, signaling Aziraphale to backtrack. “‘Can’t expect me to understand.’ What the heaven’s that mean?”

Aziraphale blinked, puzzled. “I mean, you’re…a demon, Crowley.”

“Hadn’t noticed. And?”

“Well, love isn’t really your department, is it?”

_“Not my—”_ Crowley threw up a hand and slumped back in his chair.

Aziraphale blinked at him. His fork hung in the air, the pasta dangling from it momentarily forgotten. “I thought demons couldn’t love.”

Crowley blinked and straightened. “Who told you that?”

“Well, everyone.” He remembered the pasta and ate it. “You mean to tell me it isn’t true?”

“_No. _Obviously. What did you think—What did—” He gave up the sentence, exasperated.

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to do with this new information. It shouldn’t have changed anything. Crowley still didn’t love him. Except it was such a painful leap from “couldn’t” to plain “didn’t.”

He set down his fork. “Did you ever,” he started to ask, without looking at Crowley. “I mean, have you ever loved anyone?”

He couldn’t see Crowley’s face, but could hear his discomfort in the long pause before he spoke. “I mean. Yeah.”

Aziraphale wasn’t sure what to say. That made it even worse, to know that Crowley both could love, and had before, and had never felt anything of the kind towards Aziraphale. He should stop probing now, he knew, before he discovered anything that made the pit in his stomach yawn even wider, but somehow he couldn’t stop asking questions. “And, and how did that go?” he asked, forcing what was supposed to be a casual tone. “Did it work out between you?”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley’s voice was sharp. “Where is this going?”

Aziraphale risked looking up at him. Crowley was hunched over the table, one hand wrapped like a claw around the other wrist, the other clenched in a fist. His mouth was a hard line.

“Nowhere, really,” said Aziraphale, a little startled. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“Sure,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale couldn’t tell whether it was sarcastic or sincere. He could usually tell, with Crowley. Maybe Crowley didn’t know himself. “Just eat your damn pasta.”

Aziraphale looked at him in concern for a second longer before turning back to his food. It tasted blander than it had a minute ago. Neither of them spoke for a long moment.

“It hurt, alright?” said Crowley quietly. “It fucking hurt, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale glanced up, his heart twisting in his chest. The thought that someone had broken Crowley’s heart was unbearable. It must have been bad, if he was so reluctant to approach the subject of love, so emotionally closed off that Aziraphale had never felt a trace of it from him. He wished he could hug Crowley, and say, _it’s alright, I’m right here, I’ll love you as much as you need, _and fix whatever was broken inside him. But Crowley wouldn’t want that. Not from him.

“I’m sorry,” he said, softly and gently. Across the table, Crowley shuddered. “You were complaining about the plants earlier,” said Aziraphale. “Let’s keep talking about that.”


	4. Two Scones Deep

“Hey, uh, listen,” said Crowley over tea one afternoon. Aziraphale was two scones deep and starting on his third, which would be the peak of his good mood right before the carbs started to make him sleepy. Not that Crowley had thought about this, or anything. “I was thinking I might take a trip.”

“Oh?” Aziraphale paused and raised an eyebrow.

Crowley nodded. “Not for long, mind. Maybe a week or two.”

Aziraphale lowered his scone, which was not a good sign. “When?”

Crowley shrugged like he hadn’t carefully scheduled the entire thing. “Maybe leave early next week?”

Aziraphale set down the scone entirely. Oh, that was a decidedly bad sign. “Crowley, you know Newt and Anathema’s engagement party is the following Saturday.”

Crowley considered pretending he hadn’t realized that, bemoaning his own forgetfulness, and then regretfully saying he had already booked his plane tickets and conveniently forgetting that he could change them with a snap of his fingers. But no, he wasn’t really feeling it. He didn’t want to insult Aziraphale’s intelligence. “Guess it is.”

Aziraphale was pale. “You can’t mean you intend to leave me to go by myself.”

Crowley swallowed. That was sort of the whole point. Between the newly engaged couple and Shadwell and Tracy being…whatever they were, they’d be practically surrounded by love. Aziraphale would fawn over them the way he had fawned over that couple in the park, and his eyes would get all misty, and maybe he would make a few more obvious comments about how _nice_ it must be—But not from Crowley, oh no, never from Crowley. With Crowley, he would just pretend not to notice, or go and apologize just when Crowley was starting to believe he didn’t know who he’d been talking about, or maybe just burst straight into tears, even though he had probably been able to sense it for centuries. Even without his angel-sense, Crowley hadn’t exactly been subtle about it. In his defense, he’d thought he was getting encouraging signals the whole time.

“Uhh…” Bitterness aside, it was entirely possible that, surrounded by other couples and with Crowley’s unwanted love right there next to him, Aziraphale might get upset again. But if his current reaction was any indication, Crowley had judged wrong yet again.

“Crowley, I’ll have nobody else to talk to.” Aziraphale’s eyes were wide, pleading. “What am I supposed to do, stand there and listen to Shadwell rant about nipples for the whole evening?”

“Right,” Crowley said, backtracking hurriedly. “Right, no, you’re right. Stupid of me. Don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t leave me, Crowley.”

It was things like that that were the problem. Little snatches of hope that he’d follow to the ends of the Earth if they asked. Things he’d always hoped Aziraphale would say, but now knew he didn’t mean in the way Crowley had always wanted him to. “I wouldn’t, ever,” he said honestly. “You know that.”

Aziraphale sighed, visibly relaxing. “That’s good to hear.”

And after all, they were friends. Best friends. They still cared for each other, and Crowley still got to see Aziraphale almost every day since the failed apocalypse. That was worth everything, really.

Aziraphale was looking down at the tablecloth, playing with the lace hem with one hand. “Can I ask…That night after the Ritz.”

Crowley froze. They had been to the Ritz plenty of times, but there was only one night Aziraphale could possibly be referring to. “No,” he said almost violently. “No, you can’t.”

Aziraphale sighed. “You’ve been different ever since. Something happened, didn’t it? Are you never going to tell me what it was?”

“I’m not repeating it.” Crowley’s voice rose. “You just burst into tears, Aziraphale. I’m not putting you through that again.”

“I will be fine,” Aziraphale insisted, stubbornly. “And you’ve apologized for it so many times. I’m sure you didn’t mean whatever it was. I won’t hold it against you.”

Crowley felt like all his emotions were being put through a high-speed blender. The whole problem was that he had meant it. “I’m not putting _me _through that again, then,” he said. “Wish I’d forgotten the whole thing, too.”

“I’m asking a simple question—”

“No you’re not,” said Crowley. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

Aziraphale gave him an irritated look. “What are you so afraid of?” he asked. “I don’t think I’m in much danger of openly weeping while I’m sober. What is it?”

It was getting harder for Crowley to keep up his defense. “I don’t know,” he lied, and then, “You won’t want to talk to me after. You didn’t then. Told me to just go home.”

_“Crowley.”_ Aziraphale put one hand on the table, almost, but not quite, reaching for him. “We’ve been friends for six thousand years, through heaven and hell and the literal end of the world. Nothing’s going to change that.”

He had a point. And he did already know. And he was just going to keep asking. Crowley swallowed and leaned forward, resting his arms against the edge of the table. “You’re sure?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“Of _course_, my dear.”

Crowley’s heartbeat was so much louder than it was supposed to be. Sweat was beading on his forehead, and he couldn’t believe he was about to do this again, sober, intentionally, knowing full well what sort of reaction waited on the other side. It was probably the worst self-sabotage he had ever done, which, considering his history, was saying something. But here he went anyway. “I said I love you.”

Aziraphale stared at him blankly, stunned. It was like his brain was rebooting. Then he recovered, and then came the reaction Crowley had dreaded. He was hurt, he was scared, he might have been a little angry, but mostly he just looked sad. “Why?”

“What d’you mean, why?” said Crowley. With a great deal of effort, he maintained something close to his usual posture, though one of his feet was tapping against the floor at an alarming speed. Even with the sunglasses hiding his eyes, he couldn’t bring himself to look straight at Aziraphale. “‘Cause you’re you, that’s why. What kind of question is that?” _Shut up, you’re making it worse._

“Stop it.” Aziraphale put his head in his hands and looked down at the table. “Why would you lie about that?”

_“Lie?” _Even now, he was really going to pretend he didn’t know? “I would never, angel, not to you, not about this. You know that.”

“I know you don’t,” said Aziraphale, his voice shaking. He was holding himself together, but it didn’t look easy. “I’d feel it.”

Crowley blinked so slowly it barely counted as a blink at all. He stared at Aziraphale, his mouth slightly open. “You don’t feel it?”

This whole time, he’d thought Aziraphale didn’t want him. That wasn’t the problem. The angel was just being stupid.

“Obviously, I don’t feel it,” Aziraphale snapped, letting his hands fall to the table. “I mean, it’s fine, I can live with that, only _why _would you—”

“Aziraphale.” Crowley cut him off, laying his hand over one of Aziraphale’s. “You useless angel. There’s bound to be side effects to being a demon. Did they never teach you to recognize love the regular way?”

Azirpahale blinked. “Why would—”

“Because you’ve been extremely dense.”

Aziraphale looked at him for another moment, puzzled, and then seemed to realize where both their hands were and looked down. His face changed in an instant. “Oh,” he said, looking up with wide eyes. “Crowley—”

“Yeah.”

Aziraphale covered his mouth with one hand. “This whole time?”

“All of it, yeah,” said Crowley. “Of _course _I love you, Aziraphale. Why did you think I went into that church? For my health?”

Aziraphale shut his eyes for a moment. “Oh dear,” he said in a voice thick with emotion. “I have been so very stupid, haven’t I?”

“Just a bit,” Crowley agreed. Oh, dammit, the angel was going to start crying again.

Aziraphale sniffled and dabbed at his eyes with the napkin. “I’m so sorry, Crowley. I—I must have been awful, these past few months. Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t think demons are allowed to do that,” said Crowley. “Plus, nothing to forgive. Calm down before you give yourself a panic attack.”

“Calm—!” Azirpahale started to repeat indignantly, then looked around the tea room. “Oh, goodness,” he said, lowering his voice and wiping his eyes again hurriedly. “I’m causing a scene, aren’t I?”

He looked so scandalized by the idea that Crowley couldn’t help but laugh. “Think we’re about done here, anyway,” he said, fumbling in his pocket for his wallet. He had always favored cash, because there was something so flashy about slapping a wad of bills on the table and walking straight out without waiting for a bill, but more importantly because it was faster, and he needed to get Aziraphale out of there. “Bookshop?”

“Yes, please.” Aziraphale’s horror at “causing a scene” was fighting a losing battle with his emotions. He drew in a sharp breath as he straightened and got to his feet. “I suppose we won’t be able to come back here again,” he said, looking glumly around. “Pity. They had the best lemon curd.”

“Nobody will remember a thing, Angel.” said Crowley, putting Aziraphale’s half-eaten scone back on the plate with the rest and taking the whole lot with him. He nodded at the door to signal to Aziraphale to leave.

The angel was standing there looking at Crowley with a face full of emotion. “I love you too, Crowley,” he said, his voice trembling. “So very much.”

“I know.”

Surprise crossed his face. “You _know?_”

“Well—” He shifted his weight awkwardly. “You weren’t exactly subtle about it. ‘S why I was so bloody confused. To be honest, I thought you knew as well.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale looked away, and they both headed for the door. “So it’s just me who’s an idiot, then.”

“Definitely just you,” said Crowley, opening the door for him. “Not me. I’m very smart.”

Through his tears, Aziraphale shot him a sly look. “I could say a few things about the M25, and your car being on fire.”

“_Too soon_.” Crowley waved a hand to shush him. “You can’t talk about the F-I-R-E with the Bentley right there.”

“Excuse me, I wasn’t aware your car was sentient, and also illiterate.”

“Yes? I don’t—Shut up.”

They got in the car and Crowley handed the plate of scones to Aziraphale. He put his hand on the gear shift and paused. “You’ll let me know,” he said, “if it’s too fast?”

“Yes, of course,” said Aziraphale. “Wait, the car, or…?”

Crowley started the car and backed out of the spot.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, his voice rising. “Did you mean the car, or—?”

The corner of Crowley’s mouth turned up in a half-grin. He retained an enigmatic silence as he floored the accelerator and shot down the street. And Aziraphale, though he held on for dear life the entire way, and shouted for Crowley to watch out for that pedestrian, and stop driving over the curb, and for heaven’s sake use his turn signal, he never once told him to slow down.


End file.
